


Personal Issues

by hermitcave



Series: Miss Fisher's Dating Adventures [1]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, post-season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 22:58:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7820575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hermitcave/pseuds/hermitcave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>This was the fourth time Jack had declined an invitation to her boudoir, and it defied comprehension.</i>
</p><p>After Phryne returns from England, she and Jack have a few personal issues to work out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Personal Issues

Phryne Fisher loved the way Jack's hands settled on her hips as he kissed her, the idle patterns his thumbs traced through the fabric of her dress, the taste of bourbon on his lips. 

She did not love the way he pulled away from her. Again.

"What is it?" she asked, deliberately breathless. Men who thought they kissed you silly always came back for more … usually.

"I should go," he murmured. "I have an early shift."

Phryne held tight to his jacket. After such a lovely, intimate dinner, she had absolutely no intention of letting him leave. "You can always drive to the station from here," she said. "Mr. Butler can press your suit overnight. No one will suspect a thing."

"I work with police officers," Jack said dryly. "If I wear the same suit two days in a row, they’ll notice."

She tried again. "Is that really a problem, though?" She toyed with the buttons of his shirt, her smokey gaze hinting at a raging fire within. "I thought men liked bragging about their conquests to each other."

It became immediately evident she had chosen her words poorly. Jack's hands clenched, not to pull her closer but because he tensed, and he quickly dropped them. "I don’t conquer," he told her, his voice stiff. As he stepped back, his voice softened. "And I don’t kiss & tell."

"Mr. Butler could lend you one of his spare suits?" she suggested, and at least managed to achieve one thing: he laughed.

"That would give a whole new meaning to 'servant of the law,'" he said. His voice had gone low in that way that made her tingle down to her toes. She felt a flare of hope when he leaned in to kiss her again, but it was only a brief peck.

"Good night, Phryne," he said, and left. She threw herself on the divan with a huff. This was the fourth time Jack had declined an invitation to her boudoir, and it defied comprehension. He certainly had seemed enthusiastic enough at their reunion. Uncertain what his feelings would be after six months apart, Phryne had not told him when she would return from England and instead surprised him at his office. He kissed her so enthusiastically, she thought they might consummate their passion right then & there. Instead, they agreed to meet for dinner that night. Dinner, a nightcap, a heavenly make-out session — but no sex. Same with the next night, and the night after that. It was becoming a pattern. A pattern that she did not like. 

A few moments later, Mr. Butler came in to clear their glasses.

"The inspector has left, miss," he told her. 

"Thank you, Mr. Butler," she said, although she didn't really feel grateful. A real butler would have locked him in so she could have her way with the man.

"Drink, miss?" The understated sympathy in his voice — plus the gin & tonic in his hand — restored him to Perfect Butler status.

"You're a national treasure," she told him, taking the drink. After a sip, she added: "Oh, and you can throw away the rest of those oysters. I don't want to see them again." In _sotto voce_ , she grumbled: "Their abilities are falsely advertised."

— — —

Even after a good night's sleep, Phryne couldn't let it go. She sat at the breakfast table and stared glumly as Dot laid out the 'Phryne Slept Alone Last Night' settings.

"Are you all right, Miss?" Dot looked at her with concern. Her mistress was by no means a morning person, but she was rarely sullen.

Instead of answering, Phryne asked: "What was Hugh like on your wedding night?"

A spoon clattered to the table, and one of her fine porcelain bowls nearly became the victim of Dot's profound embarrassment. "M-Miss?" The young woman tried to scold, but it came out as more of a terrified question.

"Was he shy?" Phryne asked, oblivious — or simply ignoring — her poor companion's alarm. "Did he try to put it off because he was scared?"

"N-no, Miss," Dot stammered. "Though … though he did keep stopping to look at his book."

"His book? — oh! The Kama Sutra. I hope it helped." She spared Dot the agony of answering by sighing loudly. "Anyway, I don't know why I'm asking. Jack was a soldier and a married man … he wouldn't have any virginal shyness."

Dot didn't know what being a soldier had to do with virginity, but she decided that ignorance was bliss.

"I just don't understand why he's holding back!" Phryne continued. "I've done everything short of showing up naked on his doorstep to let him know I'm interested."

"Oh Miss, you wouldn't!"

"I just might, if this pace keeps up," Phryne said darkly.

"Maybe he just needs some time," Dot said, attempting to reassure. "You've only been back from England a week. Perhaps he needs some time to get in the right mood. He is more conservative than you are." 

Phryne leaned forward. "That's what I'm afraid of!" She grabbed a roll from the basket that Mr. Butler set down and ripped it viciously. "Most men are 'why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free,' but what if he won't milk a cow that isn't his?"

"Marriage isn't all that bad," Dot said. "I quite like it, myself."

"I have nothing against the institution," Phryne said. "I flew halfway around the world to save my parents' marriage, after all." She looked at the shredded remains of her roll and pushed the plate away with a sigh. "It simply doesn't suit me, anymore than a nun's garb would."

Put like that, Dot couldn't disagree.

"Eat your breakfast, Miss," she said. "I'm sure you'll figure out what to do."

And of course, Dot was right. With a good breakfast in her stomach, Phryne felt re-invigorated and ready for a new plan of action. No more trying to seduce Jack Robinson at the end of a long day, while he was sleepy with drink.  She would catch him while he was bright-eyed and full of energy.

If that involved a little lying to make him think there was an emergency in her home, well, it was for his own good. Besides, considering the state of her nether regions, it hardly even counted as a lie. After making the call, she went upstairs to strip down into a little dressing gown. She would leave nothing to chance.

She was in the midst of touching up her makeup when she heard the front door burst open. "Ahead of schedule!" she murmured to herself, and hurried down the stairs.

"Phryne!" Jack stood in the foyer, pistol in hand, a veritable 20th century knight in well-pressed suit. _Methinks I over-sold the emergency_ , Phryne thought. His shoulders relaxed slightly when he saw her.

"You can put that away, Jack," she told him. 

"You really have a terrible habit of saving yourself," he remarked drily as he holstered his weapon. 

"I've never been very good at just waiting around," Phryne said, her mood greatly cheered by how quickly he came — and his trouble keeping his eyes on her face. She sashayed closer and placed her hands on his chest, looking up at him through her eyelashes. "But I'm glad you're here, Jack."

He gulped audibly. "I'm glad you're all right," he said, his voice husky. He was so charmingly concerned, she had to kiss him. (Admittedly, she had planned to kiss him anyway.)

Yet after a mere moment, the damnable man had the gall to pull away. "Where is he?" 

"Who?" Phryne asked, her mind foggy with kisses.

"The intruder."

Leave it to a policeman to be more concerned with a potential criminal than the mostly naked, very eager woman in his arms. Phryne sighed. "About that…"

Jack was instantly on his guard. "What?"

"I may have exaggerated the nature of the emergency _just a bit_ ," she told him. "I wasn't _actually_ in any danger. But I did need you _desperately_."

Jack stared at her; he seemed unswayed by her italics. "…there's no intruder, is there?"

"No." Phryne walked her fingers up his chest — except he pulled himself away from her with a curse. "I just needed to get you away from the office for a bit!"

"Phryne, I have work to do!" he snapped at her. "Actual police work!"

"A murder?" She perked up, only to deflate when he shook his head. "Then surely it can wait until tomorrow," she said.

"This is my job," he said. "I can't just gallivant off to do what I please."

"And why not?" Phryne demanded. "You get vacations, don't you?  Have you ever, in your life, ever actually taken one?" She didn't give him time to answer, because she knew for a fact he hadn't taken one in the entire time she'd known him. "Take this afternoon and spend it with me!"

To sweeten the deal, she began untying her gown. And yet that only made him back away.

"I need to get back to the station," he told her.

"Jack!" she protested.

"Goodbye, Miss Fisher." And he left her there. Phryne stood in the foyer, dressing robe gaping open, rejected once again.

So Phryne did as always on those rare occasions she found herself sexually frustrated: she found herself another lover. She refused to pine over a man; the mere idea was abhorrent. 

Yet she came down for breakfast the next morning still dejected. 

"What's wrong, Miss?" Dot asked worriedly.

Phryne threw herself into one of the chairs and aggressively spread an absurd amount of butter onto her toast. 

"Never use sex to solve a problem," she told her young companion. "Even if that problem is not getting sex."

Dot put on a kettle for tea; it seemed like Phryne needed it. 

"It's not the sex that's the problem, is it, Miss?" she asked softly. 

Phryne looked up at her in surprise, then gave her a sad smile. "No, it's not." She picked idly at the edges of her toast, and for awhile Dot thought she wouldn't go any further. But at length, she admitted: "I don't want him to hate me." She laughed weakly. "Isn't that the silliest thing?"

"I don't think it's silly at all," Dot said, immediately and protectively. After a moment, she felt compelled to add: "…well, maybe a little. But that's only because I don't think the inspector could ever hate you."

"You'd be surprised, Dot," Phryne said. "Plenty of men see women like me as dangerous. Not because we do anything dangerous — though, of course, I do — but simply because we have sex outside of marriage. It's one thing to be attracted to a dangerous woman; it's something else entirely to actually be with her. It's a hideous double standard."

Despite Dot's more conservative values, she had to agree. Extramarital sex was a sin regardless of your gender. "I don't think Inspector Robinson is like that," she said.

Phryne sighed. "I didn't either," she said. "I'd like to think I've gotten fairly good at sniffing those men out before I try to bed them. But there are only two possibilities I can see. One, our dear inspector labors under the delusion that I will marry him if he holds out long enough. Or two, he doesn't want to sleep with a filthy slut and hasn't found the courage to tell me." Dot gasped at her language, but Phryne just ripped at her toast. "I don't like either option."

"I'm sure the inspector has some very good reason that has nothing to do with either of those ideas," Dot said firmly, and the tea kettle whistled in agreement.

Phryne did not seem convinced. She took a long sip of the tea Dot poured out for her  — and then set the cup down decisively.

"Well, I suppose there's only one thing I can do," she said.

"Talk to him?" Dot asked.

"Well I was going to say strip naked in his office," Phryne said with a straight face, "but talking to him will have to do."

Dot beamed. "I'll go lay out your dress."

— — —

"Hello, Hugh!" Phryne sailed into the station, not slowing one bit as she swept past the constable's desk. The young man didn't even try to stop her; no doubt his wife had called and warned him to mind his own business.

She came into Jack's office like a storm. A storm that quite thoughtfully closed the door so they could have privacy.

"Miss Fisher!" Oh dear, she was still being 'Miss Fisher'-ed; that was not a good sign. Nor was the look of alarm on his face. "What are you doing here?"

"We need to talk, Jack," she told him, and perched on his desk just to get under his skin. He didn't back away — good sign? bad sign? God she was sick of trying to read signs.

"About why you won't have sex with me," she finished bluntly.

He looked around as though afraid someone was listening to them, and his ears turned pink in the most becoming way. "Phryne, this is hardly the place or time —"

At least she was no longer 'Miss Fisher.'  "This has been put off long enough," Phryne told him. "I want to know why you won't sleep with me."

"It's not that I won't sleep with you —" Jack protested.

"You've turned down every single opportunity I've given you!" Phryne said. "Are you afraid I'm diseased?"

"Of course not!" Jack snapped.

"Are you waiting for me to pop out with an engagement ring?"

"Now you're just being ridiculous," he growled.

"Then tell me!" Phryne cried. "Because right now I can't think of any explanation that doesn't make me feel terrible about myself."

She snapped her mouth shut, her jaw tense as she fought to keep a neutral expression. That was the truth she'd been avoiding for days, that she could only hint at to Dot. Phryne had worked hard to develop an intrinsic sense of self-worth, to ensure that other people's opinions never affected how she felt about herself … especially not a lover. It shamed her, how much she wanted his good opinion.

Jack rested his hand on hers. "I never wanted to make you feel that way," he told her quietly. She waited as he mustered up his courage. "The truth is … well, the truth is …

"I'm shy."

Phryne stared at him. "Shy? _You_ , my dear Jack?"

His ears turned pink again. "Yes, god damn it!" he snapped. "It's been years since I've been intimate with a woman."

She could hardly believe that. "What about your wife?" she asked. "Or Concetta?"

"My relationship with Concetta was not entirely professional," Jack said, sounding mildly affronted, "but I was not _that_ terrible a cop or husband. Even if my marriage had already long gone cold."

She squeezed his hand, and he let out a heavy sigh. "I barely remember the last time I saw myself naked, much less anyone else," he admitted.

"Surely you shower, Jack," she said to lighten the mood.

His lips twitched in an almost-smile. "I shower in my bathing costume, of course." He looked down at their linked hands, his expression returning to serious. "I didn't want to disappoint you."

Phryne leaned over, brushing her lips against his ear. "You silly, silly man." She delighted in the shiver she could feel running through his body.

She reached over for the phone. "Hugh? Inspector Robinson will be taking the afternoon off." With her free hand, she loosened his tie. "We have some personal issues to attend to."


End file.
